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A
Hey, welcome back to the podcast. Before the stories begin, I just want to remind you that my film that I've been producing, gale Yellow Brick Road, is coming to theaters February 11th. It's a dark wizard of Oz story. I really think you're going to love it. You can get your tickets now by clicking the link in the description. You can go to fathome entertainment.com to get tickets or Fandango. If you really want to show your support for this podcast, please buy a ticket to my movie and bring a friend. I promise you will not be let down. I have poured my heart and soul into this film and it's absolutely everything to me. Also, I just want to remind you that I do have two other podcasts. The links to both of them are in the description to this episode. And the last thing I want to say is thank you for being here. I really hope you enjoy this episode. And please do me a favor and follow on Spotify and now, let's begin. This happened recently, and even now it still gives me the chills. I was home alone with my dog Max, and two of my friend Sarah's dogs, Luna and Miko. Sarah had begged me to watch them while she went on a weekend getaway, and since I had the space, I agreed. Three dogs at once was kind of a lot, but they were good company. It was supposed to be just another quiet evening at the house. That's what it was supposed to be anyway. The dogs had been lounging in the living room with me while I scrolled. Max was curled up at my feet like usual. Luna was stretched out by the couch, and Miko was snoring softly near the TV stand. Everything was fine. But then all of a sudden they all looked up at the same exact time. I looked up too, a little startled, wondering what they were doing. All three dogs had their ears perked, their bodies looked tense, and they were staring up at the loft. I felt a small ripple of unease, but I brushed it off. What's the matter guys? I said, my voice a little nervous. The loft was just a storage space, but it was dark and quiet up there. Just then, Max let out a low growl and then suddenly followed by sharp, frantic barks from Luna and Miko. They were losing their minds, barking like they had seen something or someone. Hey, calm down. Stop. Stop. I tried to get them to stop, but my own voice was shaky. I glanced up towards the loft again, but there was nothing there that I could see, just shadows and the vague outline of boxes and furniture. The dogs did not care. They Were fixated on something that I couldn't see, Barking as if their lives depended on it. And then I heard it bark. The voice was soft and calm, almost amused, like someone was mocking them. Or mocking me, obviously. Yes, it came from the loft, clear as day. My breath caught in my throat and goosebumps appeared on my skin. I froze. Did I imagine this? There's no way. No, it was too real. The dogs heard it, too, because they absolutely lost their minds, barking even louder and backing away from the loft. They were scared, and seeing them scared was terrifying. I tried to convince myself that it was nothing. There's no way that someone's up there. Maybe the sound carried from outside. Maybe it was some kind of echo. But deep down, I knew better. That voice wasn't mine. And there was no one else supposed to be in this house. Hello? I called out, hating how small my voice sounded. No response. The dogs kept barking, their eyes glued to the loft. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest, I thought I might have a heart attack. I felt like a kid again, afraid of the monster under the bed. Except now it was real. I didn't stick around to figure this out. I grabbed the dog's leashes with shaking hands. We're going for a walk. Come on. We're going for a walk. They didn't need convincing. We were out the door in less than a minute. Once we were outside, the cold air hit me hard, and I realized how fast I had been breathing. The street lights were casting shadows across the pavement. Every sound, I heard rustling leaves, cars. They all made me jump, which was not normal. I was just so on edge. I kept glancing back at the house, half expecting to see someone watching us from the window. I walked for a long time, trying to shake off the fear, telling myself that I was being ridiculous. The dogs calmed down instantly as soon as we went outside. But I wasn't. That voice played over and over in my head. It wasn't just the word, it was the way it was said. Said, calm, playful, like whoever it was wanted me to know they were there. When I finally made my way back to the house, it was late. The house looked even darker than it did before. I hesitated at the door, debating whether I should just drive to a motel for the night or something. But I told myself, I'm being ridiculous. There's no one in there. I would lock all the doors, turn on all the lights, and everything would be just fine. Stepping inside, I immediately flipped every switch I could reach, flooding the house with light. The dogs stuck close to me, their usual playful energy replaced with quiet nervousness. I stared up at the loft, my heart racing, but it was empty, at least as far as I could see. I grabbed a flashlight from the closet by the kitchen, and I forced myself to climb those stairs. My hands were soaking wet, and I felt like I was walking into a horror movie. The loft was just as it was supposed to be. Boxes, furniture, some old blankets stacked in the corner. Nothing seemed out of place, but it didn't feel right. The air up there was heavy, like something was watching me from somewhere. I didn't stay long. I hurried back downstairs, locked every door and window, and tried to convince myself that it was all in my head. But deep down I knew it wasn't. I definitely heard someone say bark. Someone had been there. I didn't sleep well that night, as you can imagine. I don't think the dogs did either. The next morning I called Sarah and told her that I couldn't watch her dogs anymore. I didn't explain why. How do you tell someone their dogs heard a voice in your house? She didn't ask many questions. She just picked them up later that day. Even now, I can't stop thinking about that voice. It wasn't angry or threatening. It was somehow worse. It was playful, which is somehow much more terrifying. They wanted me to know they were there, but they didn't need to. So why did they? I haven't been back there since, and Sarah has never mentioned that she experienced anything similar in her house. But still I can't shake the feeling that there's something there, or someone there waiting. And that's the scariest part. My great aunt Grace was a remarkable woman. Though she had been blind since her 20s, she never let her lack of sight define her. Grace lived alone in a small house deep in the southern woods, not far from an old prison. She often joked that being blind made her world quieter, easier to manage. But she admitted that sometimes silence could be a curse. One summer evening, Grace sat in her favorite chair by the radio, her fingers resting lightly on the wooden armrest. The radio was her lifeline to the outside world, and she loved her evening programs. That night, however, her routine was interrupted by a sudden news bulletin. Authorities are warning residents to stay vigilant. A prisoner has escaped from a nearby penitentiary. The man is considered dangerous. Grace sat motionless as the words sank in. She couldn't see her surroundings, but she could feel the walls of her little house closing in. Her fingers gripped the armrests tighter as she leaned toward the radio, listening for more. When the broadcast ended. Silence crept back into the room. But now it felt suffocating, filled with invisible weight. Taking a deep breath, she stood and moved to the front door, her hand brushing lightly against the familiar surface of her walking stick. She reached the door and felt for the deadbolt, sliding it into place. From there she went, window to window, her fingers trailing along the frames to ensure every latch was secure. Her hands knew every inch of her home, and she relied on touch the way others relied on sight. She double checked each lock, her heart beating faster with each quiet click. When she was satisfied the house was secure, she went to her bedroom. The air felt heavy tonight. It was thicker somehow, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something felt off. She felt the edge of her bed with her hand and sat down slowly, the mattress sagging slightly under her weight. But as soon as she sat, her heart stopped. She felt as if there was a shift beneath her. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable nonetheless. Something under the bed moved. Grace froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her ears strained against the silence, listening for anything, any movement, any sound at all, but all she could hear was her own shallow breathing. Her fingers brushed against her walking stick again, and she gripped it tightly. She stood, her movements deliberate and quiet, every muscle in her body tense. Her bare feet barely made a sound as she backed away from the bed, her other hand brushing against the edge of the dresser until it found the smooth, familiar shape of the phone. Her fingers trembled as she dialed the operator. Hello, this is Grace Warner, she whispered, her voice steady despite the terror crawling up her spine. I need the police. There's someone in my house. The minutes dragged on, each one stretching into eternity. Grace stood motionless in the corner of the room, clutching her walking stick like a lifeline. She heard nothing. The silence pressed against her ears, but she could feel something, a presence, something in the room. She didn't need her eyes to know. She was not alone. Finally, the sound of tires crunching on gravel broke the suffocating silence. Relief washed over her as she heard the heavy footsteps of the police entering the house. She called out to them, directing them to the bedroom. One of the officers knelt down and lifted the edge of the mattress. The room was silent for a moment, and then came the sharp, commanding voice of the officer. Come out with your hands where I can see them. There was a scuffle, followed by a clatter of handcuffs. Grace's legs buckled and she sank into a chair, her walking stick falling to the floor. She couldn't see what was happening, but the tension in the air told her enough. The officers escorted the man out of her house, and one of them returned to explain. I believe this is the man that disappeared from the prison, ma'. Am. I'm sure you know that he was under your bed. Is that right, ma'? Am. He. It appears he took one of your kitchen knives. My guess is he was waiting for you to fall asleep, ma'. Am. The words sent a cold wave of terror through her body. Grace sat in stunned silence, gripping the armrests of her chair until her knuckles ached. The man had been right there, inches from where she had been standing. He must have heard her call the police, and yet he did nothing. She couldn't see him, but she could feel the echo of his presence the whole time. The police eventually left, and Grace closed the door behind them. She told herself it was over, that she was safe. But the house didn't feel like it should. It didn't feel like her comfortable safe haven anymore. The walls seemed to press in again. Grace eventually managed to lie down, exhaustion pulling her into a restless sleep. But her rest was shattered just a few hours later when, in the dead of night, she heard her front door open. The noise jolted her awake, her heart hammering in her chest, she quickly sat up, grabbed her walking stick, and stumbled out of bed, her feet finding the floor with urgent purpose. Her hands felt their way along the walls as she moved toward the front door, her ears straining for any sound. The door was wide open, the cold night air flowing through freely. Her fingers found the lock and she bolted the door, her movements shaky. She stood there for a moment, listening, but the house was silent. She heard nothing. Grace made her way to the kitchen, her hand trailing along the counter until it found the knife block. One by one, she ran her fingers over the knives, counting, making sure each one was in place. And they all were, including the one that the police had returned to her earlier. She was flooded with relief, but it was fleeting. Something still felt wrong. She was sure she locked that door. She stood in the kitchen for what felt like forever, her fingers brushing over the counter, her ears searching for any hint of movement. Normally, even if somebody didn't make a move, her sense of hearing was so heightened that she could tell if someone was in the room with her. Eventually, she convinced herself it was her imagination and returned to her bedroom, locking the door behind her once more. When morning came, the sunlight did little to ease her fears. Grace moved cautiously through the house, her fingers brushing up against familiar surfaces as she made her way back to the kitchen. She had breakfast on her mind. As she reached the counter, the radio crackled to life again with another news bulletin. The inmate who was apprehended last night has escaped custody. Once again, authorities are urging residents to remain on high alert. She froze, the blood draining from her face. Slowly she reached for the knife block. Her fingers brushed the smooth wood and then moved to where the knives should have been. But they were not there. She felt the countertop and found that all of the knives were splayed out across the counter, each one lying in a different direction. All except one. The same knife the police had returned to her was missing. Grace's stomach churned as she backed away, her mind racing. She never found that knife, and as far as she knows, the man was never found either. But she could feel his presence lingering in the heavy silence of her little house. This happened a few years ago, and I get chills every time I think about wasn't one of those over the top dramatic things you see in a horror movie. It started off so normal, so mundane, that at first I didn't even think anything of it. But by the end of the night, I was questioning everything. It started with me trying to call my parents. I don't even remember why I needed to get a hold of them, maybe to ask if they had my old toolbox or if my mom had a recipe that I had forgotten. I called my mom's cell phone first. It rang a few times and then went to voicemail. Then I tried my dad's, same thing. That wasn't unusual for them. They've never been great about keeping their phones nearby, so I just figured they were busy or hadn't heard them ring. I decided to call the house phone. That landline never failed. It was their go to for everything. If I needed to reach them. That was the surest way. I dialed, and after a couple of rings someone picked up the phone. Hello? I said, assuming that it was my mom or dad. At first I didn't hear anything, just a faint crackling, like static. I thought maybe the connection was bad, so I said, mom? Dad, Are you there? Hello? There was no response, just more static, and then something else. It was faint, but it was there. It was some kind of whispering sound. It wasn't clear enough to make out words, but it sounded like more than one voice, like overlapping. They were all speaking at once. It sounded really weird, low and distorted, like it was coming through an old broken radio. My stomach dropped a bit. Mom? I said again, louder this time, my voice a little bit shaky. Dad? The whispering didn't stop if anything, it got louder. It wasn't frantic or angry. It was just calm. And that somehow made it even worse. I sat there gripping the phone. After about 10 seconds, the line went dead. I stared at the phone, my heart pounding. My parents live alone. No one else should have picked up that phone. I tried calling back, but this time there was no answer. I told myself it was probably just a weird interference or bad connection or something. Maybe I'd imagined the whispering, but deep down I knew something wasn't right. After sitting there for a while, overthinking and freaking myself out, I grabbed my car keys. Their house was only about 15 minutes away. I figured I would just stop by and make sure they were okay. It was probably nothing, right? It had to be nothing. The drive felt longer than usual. The roads were empty and the streetlights didn't seem as bright as they normally did. My headlights cut through the darkness and every shadow felt deep and sharp. I kept glancing at the rearview mirror, half expecting to see someone sitting in my backseat. For some reason, by the time I pulled into their driveway, my nerves were shot. At first, everything looked normal. The porch light was on and I could see the faint glow of the living room light, which was also on. Their cars were not in the driveway, though, which made sense if they were out. But still, something about the house felt off. Like it was quiet. A little bit too quiet, if you know what I mean. I walked up to the front door, trying to shake off the uneasiness. I knocked, the sound echoing through the night. The second that my fist hit the wood, the living room light turned off. I froze. My hand was still mid air and for a moment I stopped breathing. The porch light stayed on, but for some reason the living room light turning off was terrifying. I can't really explain why. I just didn't expect it. The entire house was plain plunged into darkness. My heart started pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Mom? Dad? I called out, my voice trembling. Hello? Are you guys home? No answer. I knocked again, harder this time, but nothing happened. Every instinct in my body was screaming, leave. I reached for the doorknob and it was locked. I did have a key, but something was telling me not to use it. I backed away from the front door, my eyes fixed on the darkened windows. I couldn't see anything, but I knew there was someone inside that house. I turned and hurried back to my car, my legs shaking with every step. Step. When I got in and locked the doors, I sat there for a moment, staring at the dark windows. The porch light flickered slightly, and I thought I saw a shadow shift inside. I didn't stick around to see anything more. I started the engine and drove off, my hands gripping the wheels so tightly my knuckles hurt. When I got home, I called my parents again, and this time my mom answered. Mom, I said, relief flooding my voice. Where have you guys been? I was just there. I've been trying to call you. She sounded confused. We were at the movie, Sweetie, she said. Why? What's going on? You've been gone. Since when? I don't know. I think we left around 7:30. The movie started at 8:30, she said. Why? What's wrong? I didn't know what to say. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what had happened. N Nothing. Nothing, I lied. I just couldn't get a hold of you and I was just a little worried. I don't know why. Just forget it. After I hung up, I sat there in silence, staring at my phone. If they had been gone the whole time, who picked up the phone when I called? And who turned off the living room light when I knocked on the front door? The next morning, I decided to go back to their house during the daytime. I told myself it would feel less scary in the sun, but as soon as I pulled into their driveway, that same feeling hit me again. The house looked normal, but it really felt like someone was inside that should not be there. I went inside the house and checked every room, every closet, every corner. Everywhere. Everything was normal in its place. Nothing was out of the ordinary at all. But the air felt heavy, like the house was holding its breath. That probably doesn't make much sense, but that's how it felt. I walked down the hallway, and just for a moment, I thought I heard it again, that faint, distorted whispering sound. I bolted out of there without looking back. I didn't tell my parents what happened. I didn't know how to explain it without sounding crazy. But I haven't been back there alone since. Whatever or whoever it was that answered the phone and whoever turned off that light, I don't think it wanted me to leave. But I'm glad I did. Sometimes, late at night, I lay in my bed and wonder what would have happened if I pulled that key out of my pocket and went inside that house.
- [25:41]
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- [26:13]
A
I lived in one of the oldest apartments in my town. It wasn't really fancy, just this old creaky building that made weird noises at night. The walls were thin, the floors were uneven. The whole place had this nasty smell, like damp wood, ancient dust, the like. My friends would joke that it was probably haunted, but I always shrugged it off because I didn't believe in that kind of thing. At least until this one night. It must have been about 2am and I just couldn't sleep. I tried everything. I was listening to music. I scrolled on my phone. Nothing was working. Finally I dozed off eventually without realizing it, because the next thing I knew, I was dreaming. Except it wasn't a normal dream. It felt like I was awake. Even though it was a dream. I couldn't move. I was just lying in my bed. My bedroom looked exactly the same. My desk with the messy piles of crap and homework, the worn out rug that I had for years, even the little faint glow of the street lamp outside my window. It was all there, every detail. But something was different. My bedroom door slowly started to creep, creak, open. And then I saw her. She was old. Like really old. Her skin was pale, wrinkled, her hair long and gray. It hung in stringy clumps around her face. She was wearing this old black dress that looked like something out of a horror movie. Her eyes. Oh my gosh, I'll never forget them. They just weren't right. They were milky white, like she was blind, but they still felt like they were staring straight into me. She didn't say anything. She didn't even make a sound. Her steps were completely quiet as she started to walk toward me. I couldn't move. Totally frozen. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. I could do nothing. Very slowly, she inched closer to me. When she was right next to my bed, she leaned down. Her face was so close I could feel her breath, which smelled like rotten meat. Her lips moved like she was about to whisper something. But before she could, I woke up. I shot up, my heart pounding. It took me a second to realize that I was actually awake. Now the first thing I did was look at the bedroom door, and it was closed. I always lock my door before I go to bed. Always. But something about that dream really freaked me out. So I got up to check if it was locked. When I tried the handle, my stomach Dropped. It was unlocked. That alone was enough to send chills down my spine. But I tried to convince myself that it was just a dream. Maybe I dreamt the door was locked when it really wasn't. I didn't want to think too hard about this. I locked the door again, double checked it, and climbed back into bed. But I didn't sleep well for the rest of the night. The next day, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. I kept replaying that dream in my head, trying to make sense of it. Why did I have a dream like that when I never had before? It was so real feeling, too. My friends just laughed when I told them about it. They never really took anything seriously. You're just paranoid, man, one of them said. I wanted to believe them, but I couldn't. Something about that old lady haunted me for a few nights. I was terrified to go to sleep. But nothing happened. Again. I would lock my door. I would check it. I would double check it and leave the light on in the hallway. But I still felt uneasy, like she would appear at any moment. About a week later, it happened again. I was in bed, half asleep, when I heard a noise. When? Before, everything was silent. It was soft, like someone shuffling their feet outside my door. My heart started racing. I told myself it was probably my upstairs neighbor or something. Maybe a cat. Then came the knock. It was quiet at first, just a soft T tapping. But then it got louder. Knock, knock, knock. My throat went dry. I didn't move. And then it stopped. And for a second, I thought maybe whoever it was had left. But then the handle started to jiggle, like someone was trying to open the door. I knew it was locked. I had checked it twice, maybe even three times. But. But what if. What if it wasn't? Somehow I didn't know what to do. Should I get up? Should I yell? Should I call the police? My body was frozen. Then, as suddenly as it started, the noise stopped. I sat there for what felt like hours, listening, waiting. But everything was quiet. The next morning, I checked the peephole before opening the door. The hallway was empty, but there was something on the floor. A single dirty footprint, like someone had been standing there barefoot. I stared at it for a long time before finally shutting the door and locking it once again. I didn't leave my apartment for the rest of the day. Then, a week later, it was Friday night and I was trying to relax, watching TV in the living room. That's when I saw her. Through the curtains, I could see the shadow of someone standing on the porch. I didn't really want to go see who it was, but something compelled me. I walked over to the window and pulled the curtain back just a little. It was her. The old lady from my dream. She was standing there, just staring at the door. Her milky eyes looked dead, but there was something about the way she stood that made it clear she wasn't some just random person. She didn't move, she didn't knock, and she didn't say anything. She just stood there. I backed away from the window, my hands shaking. I thought about opening the door, asking her what she wanted, but something deep inside me told me that that was a very bad idea. Instead, I turned off all the lights and sat in the dark, holding my breath. I waited for hours, too scared to move, until finally I worked up the courage to look out again and she was gone. I never saw her again after that. In my dreams, in real life. But I still think about her sometimes. About her pale, lifeless eyes and the way she seemed to know things she shouldn't. I don't know who it was or what she wanted. Honestly, I don't want to know. All I know is I'll never forget that feeling of terror, like I was trapped in some kind of nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. It must have been sleep paralysis from what I read. Now every time I go to bed, I check the door multiple times, sometimes three or four times. I have moved out of that apartment since then, but the fear stayed with me. And sometimes late at night, I think I hear a faint knock in my dreams and I'll wake up, my heart pounding, wondering if she has come back. In 2004, I drove back to college after Christmas, but before the winter break was over, I was the first of my roommates to return to the house that we were renting. The place was on the outskirts of a small town in upstate New York, surrounded by dense woods and miles away from any neighbors. It was isolated, quiet, the kind of quiet that made every creak of the old house sound like a gunshot. I pulled into the snow covered driveway behind the house. The snow was pristine, untouched except for a few faint animal tracks. My car's tires crunched loudly as I parked by the back door. The cold air hit me like a train when I stepped out, the kind of cold that stung your face and froze your breath. I grabbed one of my bags from the trunk and hurried inside. I had been on the road for over five hours and was dying to use the bathroom. The house felt strange when I stepped in. The air was heavy and the silence felt a bit unnatural. But I chalked it up to just being alone in an old house. I rushed to the bathroom, took care of my business, and splashed some warm water on my face to wake myself up. I was inside for maybe five minutes. When I went back outside to grab the rest of my stuff, I stopped dead in my tracks. There were footprints in the snow around my car. At first I thought I was seeing things, but no, they were definitely there. The only footprints that should have been there were mine, from where I had gotten out, walked to the trunk, and then walked to the back door. But now there was another set. These footprints were larger, circling my car several times before leading back into the woods. My heart started pounding as I followed the tracks with my eyes. They came from the woods, looped around my car, and then disappeared back into the trees. The trunk of my car was still open. I had left it like that because I thought I was alone. Nothing was missing. But the idea that someone had been out here watching me brought me dreadful. They had to have seen me pull in. They had come out of the woods, circled my car, and then retreated, for whatever reason, back into the trees. I grabbed the rest of my bags as fast as I could, my hands trembling so bad I could barely lock the trunk. Every sound, the crunch of my boots in the snow, the rustling of the trees in the wind. It was amplified, like someone was just out of sight, waiting for the right moment. I bolted into the house and locked the door behind me. My heart was racing, and I couldn't stop glancing out the window, expecting to see someone standing at the edge of the woods. I couldn't sleep that night. Every little noise made me jump. The creak of the house settling, the wind rattling the windows, even the hum of the refrigerator. Around midnight, I thought I heard faint footsteps outside, crunching in the snow. I forced myself to look out the window, but I didn't see anything. Just the empty yard and the dark line of trees. The next morning, I went outside to check. The footprints were still there, frozen in the snow, like some eerie reminder they had not melted or blown away. It was like they were taunting me. I stood there staring at them and noticed something else that made my blood run cold. The prints were not normal. They were deep and uneven, like whoever made them was dragging one foot. And they didn't look like they were made by boots or shoes. The edges were rough, almost like claws, as if something with bare feet had been walking around through the snow. I tried to convince myself that it had to have Been a prank or something, maybe some weird neighbor messing with me. But the nearest house was over a mile from here, and I hadn't seen another car or a person the entire drive back. Besides, who would be out here barefoot in the snow in the middle of nowhere, just to play a joke on me? None of it made sense. That night it got worse. I stayed up late watching tv. Around midnight, I heard footsteps again. This time louder, deliberate crunching, right outside the living room window. I turned off the TV and sat there in the dark, terrified, holding my breath. The footsteps stopped right outside the window. I could feel whoever it was standing there, just on the other side of the glass. I couldn't bring myself to look. My hands were clenched so tightly, my nails dug into my palms. I just sat there, unable to move, waiting for something to happen after what felt like an eternity. I know people say that all the time, but that's what it felt like. The footsteps started up again, moving away this time. I listened as they crunched through the snow and then faded away. When the sound was finally gone, I let out a shaky breath that I hadn't realized I was holding. The next morning, I checked outside again. The new footprints were there, right outside the living room window. They had matched the ones from before, uneven and claw like. I have never felt fear like that. I don't know who or what was out there, but I will never forget that feeling of knowing something or someone was so close and they didn't belong. I stayed in that house for the rest of the break, but I never felt safe again there. Every night I would hear some kind of noise. Sometimes soft at first. Sometimes it would grow louder as the week went on. By the time my roommates got back, I was a wreck. I tried to tell them, but they just laughed at me. Said that I was imagining things. One of my friends did believe me, but it didn't matter. Maybe it was real, maybe it wasn't. But every time I'm alone now, especially at night, I'll hear that sound in my head. That slow, deliberate crunch of the snow outside. I just turned 21 a few weeks ago. Exciting, I know. But I still lived at home with my parents, unfortunately. Anyway, I was about to get off work this one night. I was about 15 minutes away from finishing my night shift when there was a sudden, sudden knock on the door. It was so unexpected, I almost fell out of my chair. I work in the industrial district and it was 9 o' clock at night. No one is supposed to be around here. Reluctantly, I got up and went to check who it was. Standing on the other side of the glass door was this girl, maybe around my age, with long tangled hair and clothes that looked like they belonged to a little girl. Her eyes were hollow and unsettling, like she hadn't slept in days. She waved awkwardly and motioned for me to open the door. Hey, she said when I cracked it open just a bit. Can you give me a ride home, please? My car broke down a few streets over. Something about her voice just didn't sit right with me. It was flat, like she was going through the motions of talking, like she wasn't used to it. My instinct screamed at me to say hell no and I listened. Sorry, I can't, I said quickly. I'm just about to clock out. I need to head home. She stared at me for a moment, her eyes digging into mine. Then she shrugged and turned away, walking off into the darkness. I locked the door and watched her disappear before I headed back to my desk. The encounter left me a bit rattled because it was so random. I did call security just to let them know that I saw a suspicious character and then I decided to pack up a little bit early and leave. As I left the building, the eerie quiet outside made me feel like I was in a horror movie about to be ripped apart by some beast or some person. Every little noise was louder than it should be. I hurried to my car. I unlocked it and jumped inside. It was freezing. I locked the doors. I didn't even care about turning the heater on right now. I just wanted to start moving and head home. It was about a 10 minute drive. @ first I thought I would be fine once I was on the road, but as I drove my mind kept going back to that girl. What was she doing there? For some reason I knew she was lying. She didn't have a car that broke down. The way she stared at me too, like she was sizing me up. I told myself it was over, I was driving now. She was gone and I was safe. When I got home, I pulled into the driveway, killed the engine and went inside. Warmth. Sweet, sweet warmth. I locked the door behind me and for a while I didn't know what to do. I decided to call my friend Jay. He was out drinking at some bar close by and told me to come join him. I figured going to have a few drinks might make me feel a little better about tonight. So I walked into the garage, opened the door, grabbed my bike and I was off. The night was beautiful, honestly, just cold, the moon lighting up the road like a spotlight. It was nice and peaceful. At first, the rhythm of my bike tires on the pavement put me at ease. But then I heard it. The whirr, the sound of another bike behind me. I tried to play it cool. Maybe it was just someone else out for a late night ride. But as the sound got closer, I started to feel uneasy. I moved to the side of the road, hoping that they would pass me. And they did. But not like I expected expected them to. The person slowed down as they came alongside me. And that's when I saw her face. It was her. The girl from the door. My stomach dropped and panic shot through me like electricity. I tried to process how she could be here, riding my mom's bike, no less. But my brain would not cooperate. She turned her head and and gave me this smile. It was not a friendly smile either. It was wide, like she was straining to make it wide. And her eyes gleamed with something that gave me goosebumps on the spot. I lost control in that instant. My hands slipped on the handlebars and the bike wobbled violently before tipping over. I hit the pavement hard, scraping my hands and knees up. Pain shot through my hands as I scrambled to get up. But then I froze in place when I saw her again. She had stopped just a few feet away from me and was just looking back at me with that same smile. She didn't say anything, her eyes unblinking. Then, as if she hadn't just caused me to nearly break my neck, she turned her bike around and pedaled away. I sat there for what felt like forever, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. I didn't even want to think about going to meet Jay anymore. I just wanted to get back home and take care of my hands. When I finally reached my house again, I threw the bike down in the driveway and went inside, locking the door behind me. My heart was still racing as I couldn't believe this just happened. How the hell did this girl get to where I was? After a few minutes, I forced myself to go back outside to check my car. Something about it felt wrong. And when I went outside, I saw it. The back left door was open. I hadn't opened it. My knees almost gave out as I approached inside. On the back seat was a piece of paper. I picked it up slowly. Scrawled in messy handwriting were the words, you should have said.
- [48:43]
C
Yes. Shopping is.
- [48:51]
A
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- [48:58]
C
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- [49:07]
A
You. That was.
- [49:09]
C
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